A matter of trust
by oldmule
Summary: Mid Series 10, Elena has come between Harry and Ruth forcing questions of their relationship. Questions that need to be answered. Chapter 17 formatting now fixed
1. Chapter 1

**As always a first chapter that I know not where it goes, but go somewhere it probably will.**

 **Set Series 10, mid Elena issues. Scenario, setting and various words courtesy of Kudos.**

* * *

They were pigeons, not doves. They flew in unison. The ripple from their combined wings feathered the air around the couple sat on the bench. But they barely noticed.

"The Home Secretary has offered me a job," she ventured.

"I know. You should take it."

"You know?"

"He asked me if I would be willing to let you go?"

She sat silently. Finally, quietly, she spoke.

"You said, yes?"

"I've been selfish, Ruth. I've held you back for too long. You deserve so much more."

"You said yes."

Deeply he inhaled, his hand rubbing roughly across his chin, but he did not answer.

He sensed her hurt, but he didn't want to disabuse her: he didn't want her support because her support was destructive, destructive and damaging to her; and she was the one person he didn't want to be destroyed by all this, as he knew he himself would be.

"You love her?" she asked, eyes fixed on the place where the pigeons had been but were no more.

"I did."

"You trust her?"

"I need to make things right with her."

"By turning the rest of us away?"

"Ruth …."

"She is not what you think she is, Harry."

He shook his head imperceptibly.

"I owe her … and the boy."

"There is something not right."

"The only thing not right is what I did, Ruth. The fault is mine, not Elena's."

"Do you trust me?" she asked, quickly.

"Of course I do."

"When I told you about Lucas, you didn't. I'm telling you about Elena now …. and you still don't."

"You don't know her, Ruth."

"And you do? And you still have feelings for her. That's why you won't listen."

He hesitated. And in the hesitation she felt all the proof of his feelings, all the confirmations she never wanted to hear, but thoroughly expected to.

"I lied to her. I made promises and assurances that I failed to keep and yes, the guilt of that has stayed with me. But it is just guilt, Ruth. You of all people know me …. And you know where my feelings lie."

"I'm beginning to think that I don't know anything anymore, Harry. I'm beginning to think I don't know you anymore"

"Guilt can look an awful lot like love," he breathed softly, his eyes seeking an imagined place and time on the horizon. "I look at Elena and I feel guilt..."

Now his eyes sought hers, "But when I look at you …."

The wind whispered through the trees around them. It whispered the truth.

"Then don't ask me to leave."

"I'm poison, Ruth. Right now that's all I am."

He kissed her briefly on the cheek, stood suddenly and strode away.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't want any of your cold war hostility, Harry. The negotiations are far too pressing and potent for your …."

William Towers pressed his hands together searching for the right word, the scowl revealed he had failed to find it.

"… patriotic machismo."

"Machismo?"

"You know what I mean, Harry."

The two men stared at each other.

"Miss Evershed will at least be a calming influence on the proceedings."

And they had found some middle ground.

"Her presence cannot be underestimated," Harry agreed, quietly.

"Good, I'm glad, you still intend to use her expertise."

"The decision is yours and yours alone now, Home Secretary."

Towers' eyebrows raised in puzzlement.

"If only she had agreed to work for me, Harry, then so it would be."

The highly practiced, impassive façade of Harry Pearce successfully did its job, forcing Towers to continue unbidden.

"Ruth I have discovered can be somewhat … stubborn, in some matters."

Towers did not fail to notice the warmth that tugged at Harry's lips.

"She can, indeed, Home Secretary."

Towers stood wearily from his desk, crossing to the large picture window that ran alongside the office.

"I thought we agreed you would not stand in her way, Harry?"

"And I did not."

"Yet, she refused to leave Section D," he glanced back at Harry.

And now it was Harry's turn to move forward and gaze out at the view below Whitehall. Neither man looking at the other.

"Come what may, however you judge me, whatever successes or failures I… we … may have ... I ask you to never doubt or lose the regard you have for Ruth. There will be a time, not too far away, when she will wish to work for you. When that time comes you should never doubt the opportunity to be within the shadow of her intellect, her influence and her integrity."

Towers' eyes were fixed on a cyclist weaving between the static traffic.

"You should have married her, Harry."

The smile from the man beside him was mirthless.

"Indeed I should."

Harry Pearce turned away. The door closed quietly behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for reading and reviewing. Believe I now know roughly where we are going!**

Ruth sat, her eyes watchful, her brain working simultaneously on several planes.

The first and the most simple: her role as analyst and advisor, offering all the information required for Harry Pearce on her left, to William Towers on her right.

Opposite her sat Elena and Ilya Gavirk.

For them she reserved another level of intellect: the one that observed, judged and speculated; that was mindful of their intent, their lies, their steers, their tells.

And then there was the part of Ruth's brain that she would most like to be still: the imaginings of her mind; of Elena and Harry; of what had been and what still might be.

It was not the first time in the last few days that she had studied the elegant, aloof, porcelain Elena Gavrik. Indeed her focus had barely shifted from this woman, to whom Harry seemed indebted and beholden to the exclusion of so much else. The woman whom he had held in his arms on the heath after the attempt on her life. The woman whom when she called to him, he was there. A fixation. An obsession.

Ruth didn't understand.

"I can think of a multitude of decisions that you've made, Harry, that could cause you more guilt and regret than the leaving of a woman and her son in Berlin decades ago," she had said to him only yesterday, as they strode into Thames House.

"I made assurances and failed in fulfilling them. I destroyed their lives."

"You didn't exactly leave mother and child penniless outside the workhouse. It's hardly Dickens. Look at her, the wife of an ambassador, with wealth, influence and power. She may not have had you, Harry, but her life has been one of luxury and content."

"And if she's exposed now as a former asset of Mi5? Then all that is lost and destroyed. And that will be my failure once again to protect them."

She had opened her mouth and spoken the words that in hindsight she would have withdrawn before they met the air.

"Ros, Adam, Fiona, Danny: you failed to protect them! Yet you didn't behave blindly like this."

She had intended to add more, to explain her point better but the look on his face had silenced her. She had said too much already.

And now back in the room she watched the confident, assured Elena effortlessly charm William Towers; affectionately stroke the arm of Ilya, her husband; and with warm eyes smile with affection at the seemingly ever faithful Harry Pearce.

She had held onto him in the park, had relished his protective grasp after the gunfire. Gasped with fear at the attempt on her life, clung onto the safety and comfort that he offered.

He was control.

She porcelain: fragile, delicate, breakable porcelain.

Like a doll.

This woman who for decades had been married to one of the most influential members of the KGB; whose son was now an agent of the FSB; whose lover had been British intelligence.

This woman seeped in intrigue and secrets. This woman who had only ever spoken to Ruth with assurance and confidence and calm; yet who in the presence of husband, son and lover appeared a delicate fragile thing.

Like a doll.

A Russian doll.

And for the first time Ruth began to wander how many layers there were to this Russian doll, how many Elenas were hidden, one inside the other.


	4. Chapter 4

"Where's Harry?"

A shrug was all Callum could manage in reply.

Ruth turned away towards her desk.

"Ruth… I think he intends to …" he hesitated, not quite knowing how to continue.

"Do something … rash?" Suggested Ruth, with a half smile that in truth belayed her worry.

"He's asked me to track Jim Coaver and I think there's more to it than finding out his intentions for lunch."

Ruth nodded thoughtfully, mind spinning, as it had so frequently in recent days, trying to stay one step ahead.

"Not sure how pleased the cousins are going to be if the boss man goes inexplicably missing. Can't you say something to him?"

"I can say it Callum … whether he listens…"

For the rest of the afternoon Ruth remained head buried in her computer screen, in fact not just one screen but two, harnessing as many megabites as possible.

When the pod doors opened she was immediately on her feet and following the errant Harry into his office.

The tilt of her head asked the unspoken question of where he may have been. He shiftily made the point of not answering.

"You can't keep doing this, Harry, we're all on the same side and whether you believe it or not we are all trying to help."

He shrugged off his coat.

"I needed to see Elena. She believes her security may be compromised."

"Well, someone shot at her yesterday, so that's hardly a revelation."

He sat down, ignoring the barb.

"Have you something constructive to say, Ruth?"

She sat.

"Whatever you're planning that concerns Jim Coaver, I think you need to hold off."

"As I said… if you've something constructive to say?"

"Harry, there's nothing: nothing at all that I can find that ties him to the Gavriks; nothing that links to the missing intel; nothing whatsoever to suggest he knows anymore than you do. And believe me, I've looked."

"Ruth, there's more to –"

"You trust me. You said that you trust me."

"I do."

"Then, I'm asking you. Trust me on this, please. Hold off on what you're planning, give me another couple of days. If there's something to find, I will, Harry. Please."

"Is this why you said 'no' to Towers?"

"I suppose someone's got to keep an eye on you," she smiled gently.

"And you're it?"

She nodded and watched the warmth wash across his eyes for a mere moment.

"Be quick, Ruth. I don't have much time."

Her eyes lingered on his strained face for a long moment before she got up and silently slid the door closed behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

**A tiny, teasy one for a Saturday morning!**

Ilya and Elena Gavrik exited the suite in which they were staying, escorted by a personal security detail including their own son Sasha Gavrik. As the doors of the ornate elevator closed behind them, a senior member of the hotel's housekeeping staff strode down the corridor towards the suite of rooms. She showed her security pass to the remaining FSB agent who stood resolute beside the entrance, slid a master keycard into the door and entered the state rooms.

She didn't have much time but Ruth knew she had long enough.

"What are you up to, Evershed?" smirked Dimitri, "We barely laid eyes on you yesterday. A home grown bomb alert and you just left us to it."

"Well, if I told you –" she began with a smile, shrugging on her coat.

"You'd have to kill me," he laughed.

"Sure you can you manage to keep the place in one piece while I'm out, Dimitri?"

"Hot date, is it?" Callum chirped up.

Ruth smile, "You may think that … but I couldn't possibly comment."

Harry was sitting on a bench by the river. Ruth had messaged him to meet here. His thoughts were still fixated on Jim Coaver. It had been two days and the American was due to fly back to the States in the afternoon. It was now or never.

Ruth sat down.

For a moment neither spoke and then she handed him a plain buff envelope.

"You need to see this, Harry."


	6. Chapter 6

**Another short one.**

With some confusion Harry studied the coded hieroglyphics before him.

Ruth had a study of her own: his face as he read the concluding paragraph that followed.

"How did you get this?"

"It's available in their secure personnel files."

"You hacked the FSB?!"

"Needs must, Harry."

Harry's eyes, framed by surprised raised brows, stared at her questioningly.

"He's not your son, Harry. His father _is_ Ilya Gavrik."

He slowly closed the pages of the folder and proffered it back.

"You cannot trust the records, Ruth. Elena must have taken precautions. She couldn't allow a service DNA profile to blow her cover."

"I believed the same thing," she agreed. "That's why I took several samples from Sasha's hotel room yesterday."

The folder hung in the air. She nodded towards it.

"They're the ones in the profile, Harry. They're the ones that don't match."

The buff file, was slowly lowered until it rested upon his knees.

Still he did not answer.

One hand resting upon it, whilst his eyes ranged out over the river.

Ruth let the moment settle before she spoke again.

"I don't presume to know your mind, Harry, but I can only imagine that the sense of guilt you felt then … and now, would be considerably lessened by knowing this."

He still gave up nothing.

"And that your desire to help Elena … your need to expatriate her; to bring her home, against all the wishes of those around you; of our security services; of the Cousins; and of Jim Coaver specifically … that that desire was fuelled by a responsibility to a child you believed was yours and a woman you had compromised?"

His eyes lowered from the river, to the file.

"Harry, can you trust the woman who told you the lie? Do you really know who Elena Gavrik is? You were manipulated by her then … perhaps you still are now."

Harry's mind was in Berlin. He was telling a beautiful young woman that her parents had been tortured to death by the KGB. He was telling the lie. And he couldn't see how that despairing face, that disconsolate figure who clung to him, could have lied, could have manipulated. It seemed impossible.

"I need time, Ruth," he said, standing suddenly, his hand grasping the offending file as he strode away besides the Thames; his shoulders taut and tense; his body language demanding no challenge.

"Time none of us have," Ruth whispered to the wind.


	7. Chapter 7

Callum handed over the phone with a grimace.

"Home Secretary..." said Ruth. On this occasion she was not corrected to call him William.

"Dear god, Ruth, what the hell does he think he is doing?!"

She did not need to look into the empty glass office, nor to ask to whom Towers was referring.

"I'm afraid I'm not privy to Harry's current intentions."

"Elena Gavrik, Ruth. He's only bloody gone and hijacked Elena Gavrik! The Russians are apoplectic, talks over, threatening sanctions and god knows what else. You have to get him back here with her now, Ruth. Right now!"

* * *

Ruth sat in front of the team around the oval table. They were speculating, trying to find any kind of reason Harry may have taken the unilateral actions he had taken. But they barely had the full facts.

"Was she more than an asset when they were in Berlin?" Erin asked suddenly, staring unblinkingly at Ruth, "It happens. We all know it happens."

"Yes," answered Ruth simply, "they had a long term affair during the whole time Harry was stationed there."

The team processed the information quietly. So much left unsaid. Eyes avoiding hers.

"Ruth, do you think that's relevant to Harry's actions last night?"

"It's hard to imagine how it doesn't all connect."

"Okay," declared Erin, "Then let's find out everything we can about Elena Gavrik, Callum you and -"

"I've already done it," interrupted Ruth, "I can't find a thing on her. Nothing. No suspicious ties, no links, nothing."

She looked up them all and they knew if she couldn't find anything then what hope did they have.

"But there's something," she added, "something ... not right."

"Do you know where they may have gone?" Asked Callum.

"No," Ruth shook her head, "But Malcolm might."


	8. Chapter 8

"I never imagined you as a man comfortable in the kitchen," she smiled, "but perhaps that was because we never had such moments of, how do you say..." Elena hesitated for a moment, her accent struggling around the word, "...domesticity."

"Hidden depths," he smiled in return, stirring a pan of bolognese that surpassed even his own expectations.

"Not that we had time for such things then, merely stolen hours here and there, secret stolen moments."

He reached for the plates and began to serve. Elena watched him thoughtfully. As he laid the food on the table she caught his arm, her fingers running lightly along it.

"Though always this is what I dreamt of, Harry ... and when you were gone, this is what I imagined ...always."

He pulled the chair out for her to sit down and gently squeezed her shoulder before he too sat to eat.

* * *

"Thank you, Malcolm."

"If he's in either of those places, he doesn't want to be found, Ruth."

"It's all gone a little too far to be just about what he wants."

She turned to go, a small nod of thanks for the addresses clutched in her hand.

"They may be somewhere else entirely. You may never find them."

She opened the door.

"I wish things were different, Ruth," he said softly.

"Goodbye, Malcolm."

The door closed behind her.

* * *

The flames took hold anew and enveloped the rough log as he slid the latch closed, satisfied by the dancing flames and the heat still on his face. As he resumed his seat on the sofa she handed him a fresh glass of pinot noir.

"Are you sure I should not contact Ilya, Harry?"

"He's suitably reassured that you are safe."

"And he suspects nothing?"

"The Home Secretary can be very convincing when required, even outside an election year," he smiled, savouring the red, "though he did fail to mention to Ilya that I, and I alone, was to be your security team."

"Sasha will not be happy."

"No, but he should be glad you are out of danger."

"Perhaps, but he is a little stubborn and... like you, proud."

She registered the minute twist of his lip only a mere moment before he spoke again.

"Not like me."

She put down her glass, eyes watchful.

"Like his father," he said, coldly.

Her hand moved to her mouth, covering it.

"Why did you lie, Elena?"

* * *

"Anything?" Erin asked.

"Nothing."

"Callum?"

"No, nothing. Both addresses are empty, no sign of any recent usage at all."

Erin looked at Ruth.

"Let's review every step the Gavrik's have made since arriving, every connection, every seemingly straightforward contact and conversation. Ruth, I don't know how but find him."

They all turned away to work.

* * *

"At first I wasn't sure," she faltered, "And I so wanted it to be yours. When I knew he was Ilya's the lie was already told."

"It suited you, my guilt, my need to provide and make you both safe."

"I loved you, Harry. I wanted you to take me with you, to be with you."

"You don't think I would have done that come what may?"

"With another man's son? An affair that suddenly seems so much less glamorous, so much more mundane and dirty in the cold day light of your homeland? No, I don't think you would have done that."

She waited for him to correct her but he did not.

"I am so sorry that I let you believe him yours. But I'm not going to apologise for loving and wanting you, then," her hand slid to his right knee, "...or now."

He gazed into the fire, seemingly unmoved by words or gestures.

Her hand lingered before slowly being withdrawn.

"So many years have past between us. My feelings are unchanged but I can see yours are perhaps elsewhere. I know that Ruth loves you, Harry."

He laughed.

She waited. She was good at waiting.

"Such a small word with so many different forms," he said, finally. "Ruth's love is pure and elegant, filled with loyalty and nobility and respect ... but it's too respectful, too distant. It only exists at arms length, unreal and cold."

He looked at her now for the first time.

"Yours was hot: the heat in the fire, scorching, passionate, overwhelming. You consumed me."

She smiled.

"Then perhaps it is time to come back in from the cold, Harry."


	9. Chapter 9

"I need to get more supplies."

"Are you sure, Harry, there seems to be plenty?"

"I hadn't quite compensated for the amount of wine we might get through!" He said, with a smile, "Won't be long."

"I'd love some fresh air?" she suggested.

The answer was a shake of the head, "Open a window."

He kissed her on the cheek briefly and closed and locked the door behind him.

As soon as she watched the car disappear down the long single track she turned to retrieve the device she had hidden from him.

Harry Pearce was good but he wasn't as good as her.

* * *

Ruth didn't know where to look next. Systematic searches and left field thinking had proved worthless. Now she needed the most divine of inspiration.

It was at that moment that an email alert sounded.

Ruth marched into the meeting room, switching the screen to a feed of the internal divisional email, stopping Erin mid report.

"It's Harry."

"Of course," muttered Callum as he, Dimitri and Erin stared at the exceedingly brief message, "Obviously!"

 _ **From: Italian Trade Minister**_

 _ **Subject: Europop**_

 _ **Translators Required**_

"Translators," mused Dimitri, "Are the Italians involved with the Gavriks?"

"Europop?" Callum's voice was filled with derision.

"Europop and The Italian Trade Minister have no meaning, that's simply to tell me it's from him."

"How?" Quizzed Callum.

"Its a reference to a conversation we had in a corridor several years ago."

"It's a bit of a risk, isn't it? I can barely recall conversations I had last week."

"He knew I'd remember it," she said quietly.

"Scintillating conversation, no doubt."

Callum had no idea.

"Translators Required?" Erin said, interrupting Ruth's memories of desirous, hazel eyes. "Ruth ...? What's he saying?"

"I think he's asking for our help."


	10. Chapter 10

The floorboard lifted awkwardly. Elena reached down for the phone, holding it deftly only around the sides as she inspected it front and back. Satisfied, she turned it on, keying in the eight figure key code.

Her head tilted to one side, listening, making sure of no unexpected returns and once more content she began to send the instructions needed to finally play her end game.

The phone was turned off and before she replaced it she delicately laid both the front and back face beneath the bed, using the merest layer of dust as a protective coat.

Touching only the sides once more she relaid it under the floorboard, tagging a tiny thread from the carpet across the join.

If he was to find it, she would know.

* * *

Harry poured two glasses of the newly purchased wine. Above him the pipes creaked as the hot water filled the large bath.

He tilted his head listening, hearing the water stop and her step into the tub.

And then he unlocked the desk drawer, removed the laptop and opened the application.

He sipped on the wine, wishing it scotch, as he watched back the footage, occasionally enhancing the image so that he could see the detail.

He replaced the laptop, locked the drawer and padded silently into the bedroom, where he lifted the floorboard, took the phone, copied the messages she had sent and then returned it, repeating Elena's procedures precisely.

She had played him for a fool too long. But no more.


	11. Chapter 11

We've got incoming..." Callum called across the grid, "Italian Trade Minister."

At once Ruth and Erin were at his side.

Three separate images appeared on the screen, all were in Russian. Ruth leant closer to read them as her phone began to vibrate in her pocket.

"Yes," she snapped.

"It's good to hear you too, Ruth."

She lowered the phone, "Harry," she mouthed to the others.

"What are you doing? Where are you? Towers is apoplectic."

"I've got the links, I need you to find the proof."

"Proof of what?"

"I don't know yet. You were right, Ruth."

"Harry ..."

"Trust me."

And with that he was gone.

She wanted to ask him so much. But it was their world to always speak guardedly and with so few words.

Callum was staring at the images.

"Does Harry not speak Russian?"

"To a rudimentary level."

The Russian was straightforward enough, the meaning however ...

"Just for once it'd be nice if they actually said what they meant," muttered Callum.

Where was the challenge in that, Ruth thought. A coded puzzle that Harry needed her to solve.

And solve it she would.

* * *

Elena Gavrik underestimated Harry Pearce.

For so long she had had him in the palm of her hand and now was no different. Yes, he had acted unpredictably by bringing her to this godforsaken cottage in the middle of nowhere, but it had suited her purpose.

Whatever he had said about Ilya understanding such 'security' precautions, she knew it was a lie. Ilya would be furious, insulted, the negotiations with the British Government would be at an end.

That had been her purpose.

Thank you, Harry.

But if she was going to do something right, if she was truly going to end all sense of 'glasnost', return the motherland to the Union: to strength, influence and power; and cut all connections with the diseased West, stopping the influence of the soft, weak fresh thinkers such as her husband; then much more was needed.

That, she could do from the middle of nowhere; just as well as from central London.

* * *

Ruth needed to speak to Ilya Gavrik. There was something in one of the coded messages.

Getting access to him, however, was another story.

Towers' relationship and influence had been swiftly curtailed as communications with Moscow came in flurries of threat and counter threat.

The abduction of the wife of a senior diplomat in an ambassadorial role on the grounds of 'security' had not been received well.

With access denied and Gavrik embedded at the Russian embassy, Ruth had no choice but to resort to an unexpected and unauthorised visit.

"How in the hell did you get in here!?"

Ilya recognised her at once from the previous negotiations at the Home Office.

"My apologies for arriving unannounced but I need to talk with you."

Gavrik was already halfway to the door to call for her removal when he saw the flash of metal in her hand.

"Please don't make me use this, Ambassador, my track record leaves something to be desired."

He stopped and turned towards her.

"You have my attention Miss Evershed."

She nodded for him to sit and they both perched uneasily on the ornate chairs of the salon.

"You kidnap my wife and now you hold me at gunpoint...I see the hospitality of British Intelligence has changed little after all."

"We have no responsibility for Harry's actions. He is acting purely of his own volition."

Gavrik laughed heartily.

"He is a fool."

"He believes there are concerns over the security of your wife."

"He is a dinosaur who has failed to recognise his time to die. His heart is ruling what little sense he has left. Tell me, what is he most worried about ... that I know my wife was his agent? Or that he was her lover?"

He paused to enjoy watching Ruth's surprise.

"Oh yes, I found out. I wanted to raise a son, not a bastard."

"And you never told her you knew?"

"Why would I? She was young, impressionable, excited by the secrecy and lies. She would never have left with him, she loves her country too much. And so I buried it and cleaned up after her, until all was as though it had never been."

Ruth was trying to assess the bombshell that Garvrik had exploded before her and its consequences through the decades but there was too much to compute.

"But now she is with Harry," she finally managed.

"You think I should be worried?"

The ripples of his laughter echoed once more.

"Harry Pearce has no hold over my wife, he has no hope with her."

Ruth wished it the truth but her faith was less certain.

Gavrik' head tilted as he studied her.

"And what is your history, Miss Evershed, with the soon to be extinct Sir Harry? I suspect it is a complicated one?"

"It has no relevance to this conversation, ambassador."

"You were lovers," he smiled knowingly, "I knew there was something between you. Awkward, yet familiar ... aware. Yes, I see it now. This must be difficult for you, that he has taken her with him?"

"I can assure you that we have never been lovers and the only thing that I find difficult is standing here with a gun pointed at your head because I need you to simply answer my questions."

He smiled, "Then simply ask the question, Miss Evershed."

She spoke aloud the agent name and the operational name that had featured on the coded messages from Elena. She was dealing with the most clever, wise and experienced of operators but she would swear blind that he knew nothing of them.

"Thank you and my apologies for interrupting your evening," she turned to leave, quietly opening the side door to the suite.

"Does he know ..." Ilya asked, as she glanced back, "how much you love him?"

She closed the door behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

**_To: The Italian Trade Minister_**

 ** _From: The Macarena_**

 ** _Subject: Europop_**

 ** _Message: Translation ready_**

Ruth's phone rang an hour after sending the message.

"The links are to a small radical group who's aim is the return of the Soviet Union by exorcising all Western influence."

"She never wanted the talks to succeed?"

"No. Everything: the attempted assassination on Ilya, Tariq, the leaks; all of it was orchestrated by them."

"To destabilise Anglo Russian relations."

"Harry..."

He knew that tone and he knew it boded badly.

"She's worked with them for... years."

"Go on."

"Since Berlin."

And there it was, Elena really had played him.

"I was _her_ asset," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"You, of all people, have nothing to be sorry for, Ruth. You're the wise one in this ..."

He was about to say 'relationship' but decided better of it.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Ruth."

"Something stupid?" she suggested with a smile, before ploughing quickly on. "I'll email you all that I've found."

"Thank you."

"Harry... what will you do next?"

He hesitated for the merest of moments.

"Use it."


	13. Chapter 13

**The moral of this tale is - don't try and write anything vaguely canon around series 10 as the whole thing makes little sense and unravels whenever you pick at it! Never has a story perplexed me so much, so please bare with my efforts!**

* * *

"He better be about to remedy this bloody ridiculous situation," hissed Towers, gripping the edge of his desk as if it was the only thing keeping him from levitating with agitation.

Erin smiled and nodded, before glancing at Ruth in a none too convinced manner.

The door opened and Ilya and Sasha Gavrik strode in, to be greeted with forced bonhomie from an overly compensating Home Secretary.

"I am so glad we can meet again, ambassador Gavrik. I am assured all will be resolved and that our two great nations can move on together once more."

"Of course, Home Secretary. For what is the forced abduction of a citizen between friends?"

Towers overblown pomposity was somewhat deflated.

Ruth hoped to god that whatever Harry was up to that he would get on with it.

On cue the screen before them burst into life. It was an image of a living room; low ceiling, thick stone walls, modest art work and neutral furnishings. The whole effect nestled somewhere lost between the traditional and the modern.

Into the room walked a casually dressed Harry Pearce.

"Harry, would you like to please explain what ..." Towers barked.

Elena Gavrik, casual, comfortable and most definitely at ease, followed him, holding two glasses of champagne. Towers tailed off.

"Elena," Gavrik called.

But neither she, nor Harry, had turned on hearing the voice.

They were voyeurs, not participants in the forthcoming scene.

"What the hell!?" Towers muttered.

"It's a one way link," said Erin.

Elena handed a glass to Harry, she stood close. Too close.

"Not that I will ever refuse a glass of bollinger, Harry, but what are we celebrating?"

He smiled, a warm charming smile, before whispering something in her ear.

She ran a hand gently down his arm and smiled seductively at him.

Towers shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Sasha's jaw set firm. Ilya remained impassive and watchful. Ruth glanced away briefly before forcing her eyes back to the screen.

"Indeed," said Harry, "we do have something to celebrate..."

Elena tilted her head, curious.

"The truth."

"Here we go," said a newly encouraged Home Secretary.

"We are going to celebrate the truth, Elena." Harry raised his glass, "I know it's about 30 years too late, but better late than never. Cheers!"


	14. Chapter 14

"Vladimir Kolarnin. Nicolai Luzyenkov"

Nothing. No flinch. No sign. No tell.

"Yuri Belkin."

Elena was impassive. Porcelain. Faultless.

"You met them in 1978, in Moscow. You've worked with them ever since."

The flicker that came, came from Ilya Gavrik, standing watching the screen beside an oblivious Home Secretary. Ruth and Erin were both aware of it, the master craftsman had revealed his surprise.

But not Elena.

Harry put down his champagne. He was not in a celebratory mood.

"You certainly planned for the long game. Marry into the KGB, seduce your way into British Intelligence and spawn the future of the FSB."

"As I recall you needed little seducing," she smiled a cold smile.

"Does Ilya know you were behind the bombings in Rome and the Chicago attacks in 86?"

She had resorted to inscrutability once more.

Sasha was looking at Ilya; confusion in his own eyes; dawning in those of his father.

"I wander how many others there have been?" Harry continued, "How many operations, how many deaths? Has it been worth it?"

Ruth wondered if Elena's lips always had that small rise on the right side that looked like a permanently carved smirk, etched on her face.

"You were certainly no closer to the mighty soviet rebirth when you arrived here were you? So many years working against all Ilya was trying to achieve and then here you are in negotiations with the imperialist, capitalist British government. How mightily distasteful for you."

Now it was Towers whose discomfort was rising.

"Did you really need to kill my agent, Tariq? Leak the names of the others? Murder them too?"

For a moment there was something and Ruth felt she could almost see a glimpse of the doll within the doll.

"I do think attempting the assassination of your own husband was going a little too far. Or were we meant to stop it in the nick of time?"

And finally Elena Gavrik bit.

"Stop it, or not: either result was a means to an end. Both served our purpose."

Sasha stood now, mouth open.

"Touchingly romantic," Harry said, "though I don't remember 'expendable' being part of the wedding vows."

"What do you know of love?" she snarled, "you were ruled by lust and guilt, you were the easiest to manipulate because your desires were so transparent, your loyalties so single minded but so weak. You would have put me above your country but no one should be greater than one's loyalty to their homeland. I would do anything for Russia...anything. That's what makes me strong and you so very weak."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Your husband is expendable?"

"Yes."

"Your son."

"Yes."

Harry shook his head at the woman he had spent years regretting, the woman who was now unveiling herself as an empty collection of loveless pretence.

In London the audience in Whitehall silently watched, witness to the abject horror of a family being ripped apart.

Harry stood wearily, "I think the conversation is over."

"You will take this information to Ilya?"

Harry paused. There was something in her tone.

"What if I have more? What if I have information that can save lives. British lives?"

"Such a novelty ... 'saving' lives," he said scornfully, turning away.

"Return me and say nothing of this and I will tell you."

"You expect me to trust you?"

"You don't want unnecessary deaths and I don't want to lose the influence I have."

"The loyal and loving ambassador's wife?"

She smiled a sick, smug smile "Precisely."

"And you think even if Ilya knows nothing of the rest, that he would want you back after days alone with a former lover?"

A hollow laugh

"You think I have not contacted him? He knows you are nothing. He trusts me."

"Then he is a bigger fool than I am," said Harry.

"I doubt that."

"Fine, tell me what you know."

She stood suddenly and with unexpected energy.

"There is a Russian passenger plane flying into Heathrow from St Petersburg. Yuri and Nicolai have someone on board," she glanced quickly at her watch, "He will detonate a bomb in thirty minutes as it begins its descent."

Harry stared, wide eyed, before his hand thrust into his pocket for the phone, furiously dialling.

"Home Secretary, we need to target and destroy a passenger plane, flight ..."

He looked to Elena for help.

"235"

"Flight 235, destination Heathrow. It must be shot down before it flies over British soil or it may kill thousands. Home Secretary, you must authorise it now!"

William Towers the aforementioned Home Secretary stood amongst the rest, watching the screen: no phone was in his hand, nor to his ear.

"Yes I'm certain," pleaded Harry, "Thank you."

With a sigh of relief he ended the call.

With a sigh of confusion Towers leant against his desk.

Elena nodded approvingly, reaching for the coat that lay on the chair by the door.

"You made the right choice, Harry."

"Operation Yevgeny."

She froze.

"Tell me, do you really think we could have found so much intel and yet not know about the ultimate plan to have the British Government authorise the destruction of a fully laden passenger plane with 300 souls on board? Now that really would not do a lot for the Anglo Russian detente."

Ilya Gavrik had seen enough, he nodded to the security officer behind Sasha.

Elena's eyes were wide and blazing, her cold mouth twisted as she swung round to face Harry. Grey metal flashing as she pulled a gun from the coat and thrust it towards him.

Ruth had stopped breathing. The room stood still.

"You have passed your sell by date, Harry."

Elena stepped closer, pressing the barrel tight against his forehead.

"Old spies don't retire, they are simply erased."

She squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out.

Harry slumped to the floor, pinned by the lifeless body weight of Elena.

In the window stood two suited officers of the FSB. They lowered their weapons and walked from the house back into the night.

In Whitehall Ilya Gavrik turned to Towers, "We shall arrange for my wife's body to be flown home as soon as possible after this ... tragic accident."

He offered out his open palm and shook hands with a speechless Towers, "Thank you for your understanding, Home Secretary."

And then he too walked away, his arm reaching out to the heartbroken son who falteringly moved alongside him.

Beside Ruth, Erin too stretched out a hand, laying it on her shoulder, squeezing supportively; feeling the tense rack of nerves and anguish that were held within, bursting to be released.


	15. Chapter 15

**A short one. Whoever said it would be easy!**

* * *

Once more they sat in the briefing room, Erin updating them on the events of the night before.

Ruth sat with them, a thousand thoughts flying through her head. That number trebled the moment the door slid open and Harry walked through it.

"Don't let me stop you," he said to Erin who had understandably paused.

He lowered himself into a seat somewhat wearily.

"I think I'd more or less finished," she glanced around the others, "other than to say, Gavrik returns to Moscow today and for the moment the negotiations are on hold."

She looked to Harry. They all looked to Harry, bar Ruth.

"Beware who you trust. In fact, leave your trust at the door. This…" he indicated the group of them around the table, "…this is about all you can rely on."

He nodded curtly,

"There endeth the lesson."

They began to file out. All bar, Ruth.

"I've spoken to Towers. His offer is still open, he still wants you."

"And what about you?"

He looked at her, 'the want' was obvious.

"I've handed in my resignation. I have a month to serve.'

"What will you do?"

He shrugged, a wry smile, "Travel … somewhere … not Berlin."

"Nor Moscow."

"No."

They both bore a half smile, though Ruth's soon faded as Elena infested her mind.

"Thank you," said Harry, "I'm not sure I ever say it. But, thank you Ruth."

Ruth nodded as she stood to leave. All she could see was Elena's arm sliding down his shoulder and her smile as he whispered words in her ear. All she could hear was the volley of gunfire. All she could feel was the tearing grief at the moment of seeing him fall to the floor.

"Ruth …"

"I can't do this now, Harry," she said as she shut the door behind her.


	16. Chapter 16

Ruth 'couldn't do this' for the three weeks that followed. She and Harry danced around each other awkwardly.

Avoidance and deflection, as time trickled slowly away.

In one week he would be gone and she would be with Towers.

He lingered at night on the grid, but she did not.

He came in early, but she did not.

And so the tension built until more and more assets required more and more meets ... until the grid was barely occupied by anyone but them.

With no one to pass reports through, Ruth was forced into his office: her intention to make it brief.

"My intel of current status operations for my replacement," she said, handing a large file to him.

"Thank you. I'll pass them on to _my_ replacement."

She nodded and turned away.

"Ruth...Stop."

Her hand was on the door, she hesitated but then slid it open. Within a moment he stood before her, hand pressing it closed.

" _Now_ , is the time," he breathed quietly, "...It has to be."

Somewhat reluctantly her hand fell to her side but still she did not look at him.

"You know our problem, Ruth? We never say anything. We never have. So before you run off, or we get interrupted by some national disaster, I need to say this ... and you need to hear it."

She turned back into the office and sat down dutifully. Harry predictably moved to pour two tumblers of whiskey.

"I suspect I am in need of a lot more courage than a single malt."

He passed her a glass and perched on the corner of the desk before continuing.

"Most days I wake up and know that I'm not made of secrets ... just regrets," he smiled momentarily, "In fact, I'm so far from Edith Piaf, it's untrue!"

At last he caught her eye and the light in it was warm.

"Two stories, Ruth," he said, draining his glass, reaching for the decanter afresh.

"The then ... and the now.

Then, I was a young man full of good intentions: but mistaken, arrogant, blind and foolish. I mistook passion for love. As it turns out I made mistake after mistake; compounding every one.

And the Now. Now, I'm still a foolish man; but an old one and the one thing that I have learned, is what it means to love."

He poured the largest of measures.

"I had to put an end to Elena, you must know that?"

She nodded imperceptibly.

"I had to reveal who she really was and to do that I had to convince her that I was the same easily persuaded fool, as I ever had been, so that she would trust me. So that as she thought she was using me; I was using her."

"I don't really want to talk about her anymore, Harry," Ruth had had enough of Elena Gavrik

"We have to."

She rose to her feet.

"We have to, Ruth because you want to know if I had sex with her," he said, his jaw tight.

Ruth froze and glared at him.

"Trust me, Harry. I don't."

"It will always be there, unless you do."

"Fine! Fine! So ... Did you?

"Yes," he said, holding her gaze.


	17. Chapter 17

"Once."

The noise that came from Ruth, Harry found difficult to name: not laugh, nor cry, nor scream.

"Just once," he repeated quietly.

"You say that as if it has relevance," Ruth breathed, "As if it's admirable."

"I'm not saying that."

"I don't even know why we're having this conversation. You don't have to justify yourself to me, Harry."

"You're the only person I have to justify myself to, Ruth. And you know why."

She turned her head away, unable to look at him.

"I'm not saying this to upset you, I'm saying it because it has to be said. You have to know, so that we don't start with lies."

"Start?"

His hands rubbed at his face, frustrated, hopeless almost. He knew this might happen. No, he knew this would happen. He just had to find the right words.

"You said, after Lucas, that it was wrong of me to love you."

He waited for her to acknowledge the statement. Her glaring eyes did not deny it.

"It's not wrong, Ruth. In fact, it's the only right thing I have. The only true, good thing in a world of 'wrong'."

"Oh, good. I'm glad I salve your conscience; let you forget what you've done!"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"You said 'start'?" she was almost daring him, daring him to speak the thing that he knew she was about to tear down in flames.

He let his head hang, the muscles tired, the tension taut down his spine.

"In a week I'll be gone. All that I've known, all that I've had, will be gone. No reason for the tie and cufflinks. No lives to save. No villains to defeat. I've been the job for so long that I don't know where it starts and I stop."

"Harry, what has this got to do with -"

"You?" he interrupted, "It has everything to do with you, Ruth. Because of all those things there is only one that I can't think of leaving behind. There's only one."

He tailed off.

"So, this fresh start? A fresh start that includes me?"

She looked at him, waiting for his acknowledgement. Gently, he nodded.

"And to begin this bright, regret free future, you thought you'd bid farewell to the past with one final, celebratory sign off with Elena Gavrik?!"

"I didn't want Elena. You know that. I would have happily shot the bloody woman myself. Please Ruth, don't make this about her."

He thought she had glared at him before but it was nothing to the searing heat that eradiated from her now.

She turned on her heel and marched towards the door.

Harry was lost


	18. Chapter 18

**No idea what happened to the earlier chapter - which should now be remedied! But my thanks and total admiration for those that managed to read it through the coded chaos - respect!**

* * *

Harry Pearce closed the clasps of his briefcase.

Slid shut the door of his office.

Shook the hands of Erin, Callum and Dimitri.

And said goodbye to the grid.

To Thames House.

To thirty years of his life.

No gold clock. No party. No drinks.

No Ruth.

His final call of duty was to William Towers and the customary handshake that was to be the only thanks for a life lost to the Service.

Ascending the stairs he prepared himself to see her. He didn't know what he would say, what words he would, or wouldn't find.

He had accepted the 'request' from the Home Office asking that Ruth Evershed begin her new role as security advisor a week early. What right had he to refuse her.

Thus, here she had been for his remaining days; and here she would be, long after he had climbed back down the stairs as an ordinary citizen.

He entered Towers' outer office: his eyes having scanned the space before he had even closed the door behind him. He greeted the Home Secretary's PA, knowing already which of the two unoccupied desks belonged to Ruth: the one strewn with files, reports and newspapers. He would recognise her chaos anywhere.

As he was ushered through the heavy, solid oak door he prepared himself to see her, standing there, at William Towers shoulder, looking all the while like the rising star she was.

"My dear Harry, good to see you," Towers stepped forward, hand outstretched.

He was alone.

"Home Secretary."

"William ... surely now," he smiled, warmly.

"William."

"Well, what can I say, Harry ... it's been a rollercoaster."

"And I can only imagine will continue to be so."

"You're absolutely right. Though perhaps our Russian 'relations' may be a little smoother."

Harry chose not to answer that one, but did accept the glass of malt Towers proffered.

"So, what'll it be? Golf? Fishing? Writing the memoirs, heaven forfend!"

"None of the above, I can assure you, Home Secretary."

Towers laughed and leant back in his armchair, savouring the whiskey.

"I shall leave those to you," smiled Harry, "... perhaps you may have slightly more time, now you have a specialised security advisor in place."

"Ah, yes," beamed Towers, "Ruth ...a rare gift indeed."

Harry waited for more but more was not forthcoming.

"If you want to know how she's getting on, Harry, you just need to ask."

He was caught.

"Has she settled?"

"Like she's been here for years."

"That's good," Harry nodded, "She's... not in today?"

"No, no, she's here. Must be caught in a meeting," Towers replied, glancing at his watch, "I would have thought she'd pop her head in to say hello to you, though."

"Goodbye," murmured Harry.

"Beg your pardon?"

"She'd be saying 'goodbye', not hello."

"Ah yes," Towers looked at him and felt something of the regret; felt an ounce of the weight; of the feeling and the pain and the complication that lay between these two.

"Still, I'm sure you'll catch up with her soon."

"No doubt."

And with that, the intercom announced that it was with some priority, nay urgency, that William Towers needed to be in the House.

"Duty calls, he rose uneasily from the chair, "Well Harry, what can I say, but that the nation thanks you and good health and good fortune to you," again he stretched out a hand, "You'll be missed."

Harry strode from the office of state; past the empty, mocking desk; down the staircase and out of the door.

Missed ... perhaps not.

* * *

He woke, he showered and he reached for a shirt and tie. When the crisp white shirt was halfway on, he realised.

He looked in the mirror.

He had nowhere to be.

Three hours later, dressed in a collarless black shirt and jeans, he stepped onto a plane


	19. Chapter 19

He didn't see the woman.

She was attractive.

Her eyes were fixed on him: she shifted in her seat; eased the sunglasses from her face; brushed the hair over her ear, all the while willing him to look over.

But he was not looking. There was no woman he thought to watch, anywhere, no woman who could catch his eye.

The elegant Venetian had immediately been attracted to the quiet Englishman who gazed with deep, lost eyes across the water to Giudecca.

But he was not here: he was somewhere else far away; and she must leave him there.

She paid her bill and left.

Harry opened the page of the book that he had tried to read numerous times before and slid on his sunglasses. The sun was refreshing and soaked through his tired skin, but the warmth didn't stretch any further.

He would stay here a few more days and then move on. Time had been absorbed simply wandering the streets and canals, becoming mercifully lost.

Time: the beast that had thundered by, a thousand miles an hour; making his days always too short. Time that now passed so slowly: the tortoise of time; not the hare.

And strangely and suddenly he thought of Ilya Gavrik and wondered if he felt as very alone; if time for him had stood still too.

He put away the book and took out a card, turning it in hands. The front was hand painted, the light sparklingly bright on Venetian waters. He opened it and spread it on the table before him, taking from his pocket the fountain pen that Ruth had given him for his birthday only two years before. He twisted it in his hands, formulating the words; the words he had tried to find ever since he had left.

 _To Ruth,_

 _I hope Towers is proving a better boss than I ever was._

 _You will be a great success, I have no doubt. And finally get the recognition you so deserve._

 _I was sorry to miss you before I left, but I was more sorry still to have caused you hurt and pain._

 _Forgive me that at least._

 _I had no chance to say goodbye ... so this is my goodbye to you._

He paused, gazing out at the water, the light reflecting back against his glasses, hiding the pain in his eyes.

 _I wish you all that you desire. All that you deserve. All you could ever wish yourself._

 _I wish you happy, Ruth … always._

 _Yours, Harry_

"No kiss?"

The fountain pen froze halfway to his pocket.

The voice behind him, asked again.

"' _Yours, Harry_ ', just ' _yours_ '? It's a bit … brief?"

He turned.

He looked at the woman before him.

He saw only her.

The only woman he would ever want to watch.

* * *

 **Probably a couple more to come. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.**


	20. Chapter 20

"Ruth."

"May I?" she pointed to the seat alongside him.

"Of course," he beckoned.

She placed her rotund, leather shoulder bag on the ground and sat down.

"Why are you -?" he began.

"I told William you were a security risk."

"A what?"

"I couldn't quite … concentrate. There were terrorist groups and arms dealers out there having a field day."

"My fault?" he ventured.

"Arguably. Besides which I had to blame someone: I've only been in the job three weeks."

He smiled.

For a long moment they both looked out across the waterway: she watching the boats; he watching her from behind mirrored glasses, hope galloping through his heart, though he knew she was building to something.

"It was wrong of me not to say goodbye, Harry."

"It's okay, I understand."

"No, it was cowardly."

Neither had changed the direction of their gaze. He hesitated before asking the question.

"Is that why you're here now, Ruth?"

She turned to him and he both desired and dreaded the answer.

"Buongiorno, signora," The waiter handed over the menu, with a smile. Ruth ordered in perfect Italian, making some comment about the day, or the view. Harry could not catch which. It barely mattered.

All he wanted was the answer to the question.

But he did not receive it.

Alone once more, she instead reached across and picked up the card.

" _'_ _My goodbye to you_ '," she read quietly, slowly relaying the card back on the table.

The sounds of the lagoon washed past them. The boats and the ferries busied before them; the locals with their bags of shopping bustled along the promenade behind them.

"Elena Gavrik," the name broke their silence.

This time it was not Harry who spoke it, though in truth he would be happy to have never heard it again.

Ruth had said it, but now she was not sure how to continue.

"Elena…" she repeated, quietly.

"Yes?"

But Ruth couldn't voice the thoughts, couldn't phrase the question.

Harry hoped he had read them; and read them right.

He took a deep breath and a leap of faith.

"Did I want to be with her? No, Ruth, I did not. Was it like it had been in the past? No and I wouldn't want it to be. Would I have been with her if it wasn't necessary? No, never."

Now he faltered momentarily.

"Did I think of you? … Yes, I did."

Her face was unreadable.

"I ... imagined you."

She gave the merest of nods.

"Can we not talk about her ever again?" she said.

"Most gladly."


	21. Chapter 21

**I keep thinking this will end every chapter but it just seems to keep going! Not long left ... surely!**

* * *

"Would you like to walk for a while?"

The streets had been a comfort to him and now he thought he would like the memory of walking them with her.

She nodded, picked up her bag, smiled at the waiter and followed.

"How was Rome?" she asked.

He glanced at her, eyebrow raised.

"I may not be in Section D anymore, Harry, but I still have … means."

He smiled but chose not to answer.

"So, where next?"

"Florence, I think."

"Good choice."

"And what about you, Ruth, is this a flying visit?"

He tried not to weight the question, but for him, weighted it was.

"Yes," she said, "I suppose it is."

He masked the disappointment expertly.

"It was a miracle you escaped from Towers at all. He's very impressed, Ruth."

She hefted her bag from one shoulder to the other.

"I suspect he's a lot less so now,"

He looked at her questioningly.

"Told him I hadn't had a day off in two and a half years: that I was breaking every European working time directive; and if he didn't let me have at least a couple of days off, the Daily Mail would have a field day."

Harry laughed a warm, resonant laugh: it was balm to them both.

They walked and they talked and when it was too busy they turned away down the side streets, crossed the bridges and lost themselves besides the quiet canals.

"Do you want me to take that?" Harry asked, as Ruth began to swap her bag over once more.

"It's not quite your style. Harry," she smiled.

"It's not floral and it's not pink, I think I can cope."

"Thank you," she said, handing it to him.

"Dear god, Ruth, what have you got in here?" he dragged the leather strap onto his shoulder. The bag was rotund and incredibly heavy.

"Just a few bits and pieces."

"What and half the British Library?"

"There may be a couple of books in there," she shrugged.

"Feels more like the Rosetta stone. You really need a kindle, Ruth."

She grimaced at the very suggestion, as he knew she would.

"How long are you staying away for," she asked, in a quieter tone.

"The world's a big place," he sighed, "I don't know… until I've had enough."

They walked on.

Two galleries and one church later, Harry turned to her.

"Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous."

"Do you have time for lunch?" he glanced at his watch, surprised, "Or, practically dinner?"

"Yes, I think so."

They found a small square, well off the tourist route and sat outside one of the three restaurants, drinking crisp, cold white wine.

The sun began to drop behind the buildings and the shadows crept across their table. Harry recognized the shadow that was passing over Ruth.

"Do you feel safe?" she asked, suddenly.

"Safe? Here?"

"Travelling."

"I'm hardly backpacking, Ruth," he smiled.

"I mean … "

"He waited: one thing he had learned with her; sometimes it was better to wait.

"You know … what Elena said …"

He raised a disapproving eyebrow at the mention of the name.

"Former agents don't retire … we find them after unexplained 'accidents'. You can stop, Harry, but the secrets you hold: they don't stop; they live on."

He raised his glass, examining the pale colour of the wine.

"At the table behind us, three to the left, is an officer, I suspect DIA, he's on obs tailing the man in the cream jacket to our right. We have passed, as we were walking, one member of Six and several plainclothes Italian police."

His lips savoured the taste: the cool, sharp taste.

"It's true, Ruth, it doesn't all just stop."

"But there are so many out there, Harry. So many we've … so many with grudges. With more than grudges."

"I wasn't in it for making friends and influencing people."

"But…"

"Ruth, you're right. Someone could try and they might succeed: but I could, just as easily, leave this table in an hour, pick up your unfeasibly, ridiculously heavy bag and have a heart attack. Life's like that."

She wasn't laughing.

"But I can't feel like that again," she said quietly.

"Feel like what?"

It was her turn to take the wine: but she did not savour it; she needed it; she hid behind it.

"When … the gunshot … Elena."

"Nice to know we're not talking about her."

"When ... When I thought it was you, not her."

He leant forward, leaning across the table from her, eyes wide and warm and hopeful.

"And what were you feeling?"

She looked at the wine, swirling it around in the bottom of the glass.

"Like I have everytime I've been told you've been shot, stabbed, blown up, or probably thrown off the top of a large building," she glanced up at him, with a wry smile.

"Bit of a habit," he shrugged apologetically.

Distant church bells began to ring out across the city, the peels echoing closer, as one by one they joined together in announcing the hour.

"You still haven't answered my question, Ruth. How did you feel?"

She looked up at him, holding his gaze, not glancing away this time.

"Like everything I cared about had been taken from me."

He closed his eyes momentarily.

"You asked how Rome was?" he said.

She nodded.

"That's how Rome was."


	22. Chapter 22

Admission and understanding

Two steps forward.

Progress.

But most of all … she was still sitting there facing him.

They smiled gently at each other.

Knowing.

Knowing they had passed some kind of test.

They ate their meal, moving back to gentle discussion of all that surrounded them, of the architecture, of the culture, of the history.

Red followed white.

Ease followed awkwardness.

One dessert, two spoons.

"So, are you back tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"You said it was a flying visit."

"I flew."

He looked at the light in her eye and the bag beside them.

"You've got a couple of days off?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Yep, that or a Daily Mail scandal."

Harry laughed. Laughed without the weight of sorrow, or regret, or guilt.

"Have you somewhere to stay?"

"Yes, thanks," she said.

"And at the risk of asking one too many questions, would you like to meet tomorrow? Perhaps we could take a boat out across the lagoon?"

"And at the risk of saying 'yes' once too often … yes, I would."

"You can say it as often as you like, Ruth."

He realised how it sounded: and concluded that he actually meant everything she could read from it; and perhaps it was best that way.

They paid the bill and began a gentle stroll through the streets.

"I'll walk you back to your hotel," he offered, "otherwise you might struggle to find a free packhorse for this ridiculous bag of books."

"I don't think I could go anywhere without a book."

"Yes, I have noticed that," he muttered, "Please tell me you're not staying at the far end of Castello?"

"No, Dorsoduro, near you."

"Good," he said swapping shoulders.

They walked down the Zattere Promenade, where she had found him late that morning writing his goodbye card. He marveled at the transformation of a day, for which he'd had no hope. And he thought about tomorrow and seeing her again, her hair blowing in the wind as they crossed the lagoon.

"Do you know where you're going?" he asked.

"Yes, it's not far, just off to the right, I think. Close to you."

"You knew where I was staying?"

"Of course, I had to find you somehow … couldn't just sit waiting for you to walk through St Mark's, could I?"

"You would have been waiting a while, I've largely avoided it."

She laughed, "Too many pesky tourists."

It was partly true. It was also a large, open, crowded space and instinctively he felt more secure in an enviroment he could control. She had been correct, there were plenty out there who would be glad to finally get hold of Harry Pearce.

"Here," she announced, rousing him from his thoughts.

They were standing outside a small hotel.

"Here?" he repeated.

"Yes, Harry. I'm staying here."

"But, I'm staying here."

"Yes, you are.

"And you're staying here?"

"Yes ... Now please can you quickly grasp what I'm suggesting before I start to panic that this isn't a good idea."

"It's a good idea, Ruth," he had grasped it, "It's a very good idea. In fact, it's my favourite idea ...ever."


	23. Chapter 23

He unlocked the door and stood aside for her to enter the room. Silently she stepped across the threshold, moving instinctively to look out of the large, open picture window.

He closed the door, dropping her bag on the small sofa.

In the dim half light his eyes were fixed on the shape of her, of her back, delicately silhouetted by the street lamp beyond.

"Beautiful view," she said quietly.

"It is," breathed Harry. He was close now. She could feel his presence behind her.

And so they stood: still and silent, looking out at the water and the lights of Guidecca beyond.

And both knew that they were in no hurry.

Her left hand twisted back infinitesimally, her knuckles brushing against the back of his fingers; his knuckles brushing back against hers.

The merest of touches.

Instinctively both knowing that the intimacy of finger tips and palms was, as of yet, too much, too soon.

He inhaled, breathing her in, hardly daring to release the scent. She could feel the loose strands of her hair stirred by his breath.

His right hand rose towards her neck. He let the hair fall slowly between his fingers and with the lightest of touches swept it over her shoulder, revealing the nape of her neck. She felt the air shift as he exhaled; the tiny hairs standing on end; a shiver rippling through her.

His lips were at her ear, her cheek, her neck: never touching, never landing ... but hovering, savouring, tempting.

A hand found her hip and snaked slowly around, a second echoed it: hands across her waist, pulling her close; pulling her back against him; so that she could feel his warmth radiating through them.

She leant her head back against his chest and rested there. And when his lips finally made contact, it was a tender loving kiss planted on the top of the head that he treasured so much: the head that had worked so hard, for so long, to analyse something that she now knew required none ... because this was where she was meant to be.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry lay, eyes open.

He was tired both mentally and physically but there was nothing in this world for which he would swap this moment. There was no single time in his life when he had ever felt more elation, joy and contentment.

She lay beside him.

He didn't wake her: they had had so little sleep.

Even though his eyes told him to rest, how could he rest ... when, even though he had Venice as a backdrop, he had such a view as this.

And so he looked at her, through the tears that bathed his tired eyes.

When Ruth woke it was to find him propped on one arm, smiling softly.

"Have you slept at all?" she asked, stretching out a hand and stroking his stubbled chin.

"Would you rather I had?" his smile was devilment.

"Perhaps not," she yawned.

Their night had been long: through the final hours of the evening, to the small hours of the morning, they had moved from tender to loving, from sensual to passionate.

This, they had deserved: and they knew enough of the random fleetingness of life to savour every second.

"It's still too early," she said, pulling him to her.

Unresisting, he rested his head against her chest; marveling that the view could be surpassed. And even as he thought it, he began to feel the drowsiness overwhelm him.

Four hours later Harry's eyes opened slowly. He lazily reached out an arm towards her.

The bed beside him was empty.

"Ruth!"

He sat bolt upright.

"Yes," she looked around at him, from the sofa, where she was rifling through her bag.

"Sorry, I … never mind," he tailed off, panic ebbing away.

She continued rummaging.

He watched her, painfully reminded that tomorrow she would be gone.

"Ruth … when exactly do –"

"Here we go," she interrupted, turning from the bag with an armful of books.

"I thought you said a couple!"

They spilled out of her arms onto the bed.

"...No bloody wonder, I've got a sore shoulder."

Harry's complaints were suddenly silenced.

On the bed lay not a novel, not a biography, not a collection of poetry: not a one. Instead every book was a travel guide.

Florence. Seville. Paris. Dubrovnik. Ionian Islands. Athens.

He looked from them to her.

"A couple of days off, you said?"

"At _least_ a couple of days."

"Or a scandal in the Daily Mail?"

"Exactly," she smiled.

"How many days, Ruth?"

"Wrong unit," she picked up the book of Florence, "Have you got anywhere in mind to stay?"

"Unit?"

She threw down the book and moved on to the Ionian Islands.

"Fancy sailing?"

"Ruth?"

"Can you swim?" she asked, barely hiding her pleasure at tormenting him.

"Yes, I can swim! How long?"

She paused, thoughtfully, "Of course, that's presuming you want a … 'companion'?"

The book was snatched out of her hand and thrown down.

"God help me, but if you don't tell me, I swear I'll go with someone else."

"I'll call Malcolm, shall I?"

"Ruth!"

She smiled. He had suffered enough.

"Besides threatening William with the Great British press, I told him that there would be no point employing me, if I was incapable of doing the work … so he might as well just give me three months off and be done."

"Three months!?"

She looked at his quite frankly astounded expression ... and worried.

"Is that too long?"

Harry began to laugh: it was a laugh he saved especially for her. In fact it was to be one of many new expressions that she would come to know; all were for her; all filled with his ever abiding, free flowing love for her.

"No, Ruth, three months is not too long. Forever … would not be too long."

* * *

 **Okay, well I think that's it. Seems like a good place to stop. Thanks for all your support. From a story that was initially exceedingly difficult to write, I have quite enjoyed the end. And one big credit goes to a song by Savage Garden 'Truly Madly Deeply' that kept me inspired. Lyrics below.**

 _I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy_

 _I'll be your hope, I'll be your love, b_ _e everything that you need_

 _I"ll love you more with every breath,_ _Truly, madly, deeply, do_

 _I will be strong, I will be faithful_

 _Cos I'm counting on a new beginning, a reason for living, a deeper meaning_

 _I want to stand with you on a mountain, I want to bathe with you in the sea_

 _I want to lay like this forever until the sky falls down on me_


End file.
